As My Black Heart Beats (An SE CroMa Fanfic)
by wolfprinceIII
Summary: Pointless fluffy events. Takes place after anime. Male!CronaxMaka
1. Chapter 1

Darkness coated day as a black shroud, seeping in every last drop of light until the world was blind. A specific pink-haired meister stood in the cruel midst of it, indulging in the sweet cool breath of the nightly abyss. Like a drug, it swept throughout his entire being, soothing his troubled mind, and putting his conscience at ease. The subtle pulse of his faint black heart's beat gently lulled him to an unconscious state of moral sleep, his body still being used, but as a puppet's would. The lullaby of the heartbeat then stopped altogether, no longer needed; as his body was already in possession of the demon within him.

The demonic figure's pupils faded into the whites of his eyes, so that only a distant outline remained of them. Liquid black poured over his hair until it dimly shone an eerie ebony. Drippy wings of the same hue painfully sprouted from either of his shoulder blades, protruding stories high above the lanky figure from which they came. As his transformation became complete, he stared at the surroundings before him, with only dim moonlight to enable sight.

He appeared to be in somewhat of a cell, four walls of stone half-way up with the rest brick, and a heavy iron door as the only potential exit or entrance. A single bed lay in one of the corners, adorned with white and red diamond-patterned covers and one pillow. A simple desk stood against the wall opposite the door with a table lamp on it, as well as a sentimental photograph of a pink-haired, dark-eyed boy and blonde girl smiling with sincerity. In the wall far above the desk was a tall arched window in which a very faint amount of moonlight drifted through to ever so slightly illuminate the darkness which corrupted the enclosure.

The less-than-human's eyes darted around anxiously with hunger, proclaiming that he'd devour any living thing within his range of attack. This hunger led him to mild irritation, and he desperately tried to hear anything that might-

"_CRONA!_" The now-unfamiliar voice rang throughout the corridor outside the prison as the demon cocked his head to pick up the speedy tap-tap of footsteps running toward him. The massive door was then heaved open to show the source of the voice: a young girl with blonde twin ponytails, the very same girl shown in the photograph. She wore a horrified expression on her face, and now spoke with hoarse speech donned with fear and heartbreak. "Crona?" Her emerald eyes brimmed with tears. The monster held his hand above his head and gripped a white-streaked ebony sword seemingly from nothing. Saltwater spilled down the girl's cheeks and onto the desolate stone floor as she uttered her last words.

_"Why, Crona?"_

The crimson liquid began to make contact with the tears shed such a very short time ago. The once-human plucked the winged soul from her corpse and began to swallow it. As this happened, the poor remains of monster's human soul screamed silently, trapped inside the possessed body without control, as though it was left there to endure the torture of watching the massacre. As if by cruel Fate's hand, the moonlight suddenly strengthened immensely, forcing the imprisoned soul to stare at his body's reflection in the pool of blood; the soul noticed the change of hair color, how much the wings had grown with insanity, but most prominently frightening: the three sideways sanguine eyes that took up most of its face, and the wide, sadistic grin that followed.


	2. Chapter 2

A horrific screech impaled the air with a fear-filled pitch of anguished despair and utter pleading denial. The one who had sounded the shriek sat bolt upright in his bed, pink locks disheveled, and tear-streaked eyes bloodshot. The meister slowly curled his legs up to his chin, shivering at the treachery his mind had just dreamed up. He bit down on his quivering lower lip as he futilely tried to hold his tears in, until he had given up and they ran coldly down his cheeks. Weak whimpers of guilt escaped his closed mouth.

A slight pain soon wrenched at his spine, telling him that his sobs (and his screech) had woken his partner. "Crona, what the hell?! I don't care how sad you are, quit crying in the middle of the damn night!" The miniscule demon sprouted from his back and started relentlessly pounding his round fists on his meister's head "It makes it hard for me to sleep, _moron!_" He said slowly, as though Crona's mind was a delicate bomb, ready to explode any second. "NOW GET BACK TO BED!" With that small rant, the cranky sword dispersed back inside Crona, thoroughly disgruntled.

A few minutes of silence drenched the room, and the swordsman, having disturbing questions roam his mind, decided to speak up. "Ragnarok, are you still awake?" Seconds passed.

"What do you want now, pansy?"

Crona, now clutching his pillow for comfort, sat pondering for the right words to use. "Would... Would you still become a kishin if you could?" He spoke with a wobbly voice.

A few more unresponsive moments passed, but soon the irritable sword erupted with his usual reaction of violent behavior, slamming his balled hands down on his meister's head more vigorously now as he yelled. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'IF I COULD?!' I COULD BECOME A KISHIN ANY DAMN DAY NOW! I JUST DON'T THINK YOUR WEAK LITTLE PANSY BODY CAN TAKE IT! HEY DIDN'T I TELL YOU TO GO BACK TO SLEEP?!"

"Okay, OKAY Ragnarok! Ow! I'm going to sleep! I'm asleep, I'm asleep!" Crona weakly protested, as the weapon's punches were more painful than before. Upon finally hearing the meister's admittance of defeat, Ragnarok let up on his violence and reluctantly returned to his dormant state inside his partner. The swordsman quietly sighed with relief, looking up through the single window in his bedroom at the moon, its bloody teeth heaving as it unceasingly chuckled to its own private little joke. The pink-haired meister's eyelids lowered drowsily as fatigue washed over his few thoughts. As he slowly drifted into slumber, a new, more soothing lullaby sounded within him; it was one of comfort and encouragement. The lullaby was a voice that spoke directly and only to him, a voice that he had come to love so dearly, as it belonged to the specific someone that had saved him from himself. It was the voice of a girl who bore two blonde ponytails and welcoming emerald-green eyes. It was the voice of his beloved friend Maka Albarn, and it was with this voice that he fell asleep once again.

* * *

The blonde scythe-meister uncomfortably shifted in her bed from her left and right sides constantly, unable to still herself. It was quite obvious by now, at two o'clock in the morning, that she was unable to sleep. Perhaps it was because just the day before, she had _literally_ single-handedly killed a kishin and was still terror-struck from the horrid encounter. Maybe it was because she had thought one of her closest friends had been killed before her eyes, and she had found out that he was still alive; she might still be worried about his health. Whatever the reason, there seemed to be no end to her restlessness. Finally, she decided to simply lay on her back, gazing up at her bedroom ceiling with wide attentive eyes.

More thoughts continued to roam her mind as restlessness was gradually replaced by boredom. Her friend's health seemed to be a thought appearing quite frequently, and this puzzled her. She had seen all of her other friends basically fall dead at the insane hand of the kishin, Asura, so why should she be more worried about only him in particular? Was it because he had been 'killed' by his own mother? Or maybe she had just always sensed that he was psychologically weaker than the others. Professor Stein had told her that the very first thing Crona had said when he woke up was that he needed to go find her. Could that be what was weighing so heavily on her mind? She rolled over onto her side and forced her eyes tightly shut, refusing to cry at the memory of his sacrifice for her. She quickly tried to drown these thoughts out by focusing on sleep, and, despite her failed previous attempts, tried to work toward such a thing again. The meister let her eyes gently close themselves as her mind was carefully tugged back to pleasant memories of his pink hair, dark eyes, and his small, barely-there smile. It filled her with soft relief, knowing that he was still alive and well, and perhaps it was this that finally enabled her to shut down her mind and fall into a restful, but short-lived, slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

The drowsy sun hung lazily in the sky, heaving slow breaths as it gave off morning's first light. Emerald eyes snapped awake in response to this sunrise, as though waiting for the first chance to pop open the next day. Warmth washed over the pink sheets she was laying underneath and drenched her face with sunlight. Her goldenrod hair lay spilled across her pillow, and her hands, tucked snugly under her cheek. The meister then made an attempt to climb out of bed, swinging her legs so that her feet touched the cold tiled floor. After maneuvering in such a fast and sudden manner, she winced, realizing that she was still plenty sore from her toll-taking victory just yesterday. Despite the previous pain, she made to a stand and walked over to her bedroom door, locking it as she began to change from her yellow and green sleepwear to her usual striped tie, sweater-vest, and red and black plaid skirt, and fix her hair into her two traditional ponytails.

Once fully dressed, the scythe-meister quietly exited her room, listening carefully for her weapon's snoring across the kitchen. Satisfied with her positive knowledge of him still being asleep, but not thinking to leave a note for her partner as to where she had gone, she made for made for the apartment's front door, only to be stopped by a small meow of a yawn. The meister, hand lowering from the doorknob, turned and looked down to find the violet cat sitting up and returning the gaze with wondering eyes.

"Where ya going, Maka?" The feline blinked at her, curious as to how the top-student could be up so early in the morning after such a rough day.

"Oh, I was just going to go see Crona. You know, see if he's doing alright." Maka replied with a slightly chagrined smile, rubbing the back of her head.

"You mean the cute demon boy with the pink hair?" she purred, eyes closing with a catty grin. "_He'll _sure be happy to see you." The meister's housemate then let out another yawn and stretched as she turned to go back to the weapon's room. "I'll be sure to tell Soul where you went once he wakes up." Blair looked over her shoulder and winked with a gold eye. "You know, since you and demon-boy will probably be awhile..." Maka could only imagine the implications the cat meant, as she put a peculiar type of emphasis on the words _be awhile_.

As she was finally able to leave the apartment and set out for the Academy, the scythe-meister sighed a mixture of relief and exasperation. She had been worrying about the swordsman, for nearly no reason in particular. She knew he had had surgery to repair the injury he received at the battle with the witch Medusa, but she wasn't really concerned about that. His black blood was functioning properly now, and if he happened to accidentally reopen the wound, Ragnarok would be able to simply harden the blood. Something was distantly disturbing her thoughts, as if it wasn't necessarily worry for him, but rather worry that _she _had forgotten to _tell _him something...

Maka slapped her hand to her forehead. _Of course._

_Medusa_. Maka had killed Crona's mother. _He doesn't know yet..._

She quickly shook her head as if to dismiss the thought. She'd tell him when he asked- _if_ he asked. Though right now, she was just going to visit him to see that he's alright... to see that he's _alive_.

Gods, she was just glad to know that he was _alive__..._

* * *

Distant sunlight dwindled past the lone arched window of the dungeon, dimly illuminating the enclosure. It traveled farther, down onto the pink head of the curled up figure with its head in its knees, a pillow in between. Crona lifted his head toward the source and blinked, rubbing the crusty salt and sleep out of his eyes.

Salt... Why would he have been crying last night? What had happened before he fell asleep? He looked down to the dusty substance on his knuckles. The memory of his nightmare flooded into the forefront of his mind almost painfully. The visuals it gave him was enough to push a lump into his throat. The swordsman hastily shoved the thought out of his mind, forcing himself to remember that Maka was alive, and that Asura was dead, and that nothing was wrong. It was just a dream, nothing more. Dreams can't hurt you...

BANG! BANG!

Two prominent knocks from outside his iron room door echoed into his room, interrupting the mental reassurance he was trying to give himself.

"I'm coming in, Crona!" Simply the sound of Maka's voice was enough to entirely diminish any previous negative thoughts he might have had. Maka's voice meant Maka was nearby, and if Maka was nearby, then absolutely nothing was ever amiss. Needless to say, he knew that she always reassured him the most.

The door swung open, revealing the blonde scythe-meister behind it; Crona brightened and stood up from his bed at this, staring into her smiling emerald-green eyes. Her eyes closed with a wide grin as she, without warning, literally ran into the swordsman, meeting him with breath-taking embrace. Slightly but pleasantly surprised, Crona carefully put his arms around her as well, returning the hug. As Maka released, her hands trailed down to Crona's, gripping his and entwining their fingers.

Still standing incredibly close, she spoke. "So, are you feeling alright?" Her strong eyes bored into the swordsman's scared stormy ones.

It was difficult to nod when she was so _close_, holding his hands like it was nothing more than a friendly gesture. He did like holding her hands, though, it just made him nervous; it felt like he was breaking some sort of unspoken rule by doing so. Crona finally managed to answer with a nod, almost wondering why she was asking.

"Good!" She said, letting go of his hands and lacing her own together behind her back. "Because I might have to plan a party celebrating that the kishin's dead. And I'm not going to let you stay home from it!" She wagged a finger at him.

He tentatively gave a slight smile. "O- Okay."


	4. Chapter 4

At that moment, the blonde meister had remembered the fact that she had not eaten anything since she had woken up. She was contemplating getting something to eat when her stomach emitted a clearly audible gurgle.

The swordsman's gaze immediately shifted to her mid-torso. "Y- You're hungry, Maka." He looked back up into her eyes, concern lowering his eyebrows, though it was difficult to distinguish due to his eyes' natural slants. He knew very well what it was like to be hungry, and how painful it could be. He _did not_ want Maka to have to feel that kind of pain.

Maka's eyes closed once again, eyebrows angled slightly similar to his. "Oh, it's okay, Crona. I just forgot to eat breakfast this morning." He gave her a dubious expression. "How about you and I go back to my apartment and I'll cook us and everyone something to eat, 'kay?"

His posture lightened, as well as his face. He didn't care if he got anything to eat; he could go days without food. The only thing that mattered right now was getting Maka fed. "Okay." He spoke. "A- As long as you eat something too." Besides, he'd bet that anything Maka made would taste lovely.

Her smile turned into a wide toothy grin. "Deal!"

* * *

Accompanied by Crona, the meister unlocked her apartment, walking in to find her weapon in his sleepwear, lounging in a dining room chair. He looked at the two, feigned exasperation on his face.

"Well, you forgot to mention that he was coming over." The scythe spoke, face in a small sharp-toothed grin.

The demon swordsman's gaze fell slightly, head tilting down. "O- Oh, sorry. I can leave, it's o-"

Soul clapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, it was a joke." His eyes closed with a larger grin. "Just means I have to get dressed now." As he exited the dining room to his own room, Maka had walked into the kitchen. Crona watched as she proceeded to fasten an apron around her waist.

She turned around and looked at him with earnest eyes. "So, what do you want for breakfast, Crona?"

Ragnarok had been sleeping so soundly that his own meister had apparently forgotten his presence. Though simply the mention of food was enough to change this. "FOOD?!" A miniscule pain spread onto Crona's spine as the weapon made his unimpressive entrance, bursting out of the swordsman's body. "I want pancakes, and eggs! And bacon and sausage!" The pink-haired meister closed his eyes with exasperation and let out a sigh.

Maka's eyes narrowed with a glare as she stared daggers at the sword. "I was asking Crona, not you." She then looked back at the shy meister, expecting a response.

Not desiring to make her cook anything she didn't want, he answered. "Er, wh- whatever _you_ want to eat."

Her expression turned to one of disappointment or doubt. "Crona, I'm going to cook what _you _want. So, what do _you_ want?"

Crona's line of sight drifted to the floor as he pondered over the question. After a few moments of silence, his weapon partner grew impatient. "He's not gonna answer, ya know! He doesn't wanna say anything you don't want! Just make some DAMN WAFFLES!" His arms crossed across his chest, Ragnarok addressed the scythe-meister.

"I like waffles, Crona."

"O-Okay."

"FINALLY! I swear, sometimes you two are like a overly-sugary-sweet couple! It's DISGUSTING!" Crona's face reddened slightly at the last remark.

"Soul, I'm making breakfast!" She called to her weapon.

"'Bout time." The scythe spoke with a small grin as he came back out of his room, dressed in his black leather jacket, orange shirt, headband, and khakis. He then turned into the living room, sat on the couch, and flipped on the television.

Crona looked back at Maka as she put out various materials and ingredients. "Sh- should I help, Maka?" He asked, gripping his right arm.

She giggled at the offer. "No, Crona, you're our guest; sit down." The meister gestured in the direction of Soul with a frying pan.

The demon swordsman glanced at Soul, then back at Maka, of whom had resumed cooking. Uncertainly, he took a seat on the opposite side of the sofa from the scythe. The albino lazily stared at the T.V., elbow draped comfortably over the back of the couch. Ragnarok peered up from behind his roost atop his meister's head. "This stuff's as boring as hell!"

Soul sighed, tossing the sword the remote. "Your pick, then. I don't really feel like watching T.V., anyway." His line of sight turned toward Crona. "So, that wound healing up fine?"

It took a moment for Crona to process and remember what he was talking about. "Oh, y- yeah. It's fine."

The albino weapon clapped Crona on the shoulder. "Cool."

The purple cat of whom had taken residence in Maka and Soul's apartment hopped up into the scythe's lap. Blair nuzzled her head up and down his chest before moving onto the meister. Crona looked down on her, curling up into a sleeping position on his lap, and started to stroke her fur. His weapon muttered to no one in particular. "I like you better in human form."

The feline opened a single gold eye and peered up at him. "So how'd it go with Maka?" She whispered, speaking only to Crona.

He raised an eyebrow. "Eh?" What did she mean by 'it?'

She chuckled. "Don't worry; I won't tell anyone." Blair closed her eye once more, presumably asleep.


End file.
